The fighting near the University of Opole had subsided enough that Marce Claremont had been able to return to his apartment in graduate housing to pack for a trip from which he would likely never return.
Which did bring up the question: If you are leaving forever, what do you take with you?
Marce’s triage was helped by certain factors. With regard to clothing, Marce was already packed; he had enough clothes at home in Claremont that he didn’t need any from his apartment in Opole. The only thing his apartment had to offer in that regard were some casual shirts with clever astrophysics comments silkscreened on them. Marce was reasonably sure he could leave those behind. The clothing he did pack was mostly neutral in color and design. His father pointed out that fashion on Hub would be so dramatically different that he would have to restock anyway.
All the music, books, pictures, entertainment, and much of the personal communication that Marce treasured was stored in a thumb-sized data crypt, along with what appeared to be close to one hundred thousand marks of spending money, the latter accessible only through Marce’s biometrics, theoretically. Marce wouldn’t have to waste space on any of those.
That left things—objects of sentimental value. The large majority of these sorts of objects also resided in Claremont Palace, both because that’s where Marce had lived most of his life, and also because the apartment in graduate housing was ridiculously small. Of the objects that were at the apartment, Marce chose four. Two were books, given to him by his father, one on his thirteenth standard birthday, and one when he received his doctorate.
The third was an obsolete music player given to him by Vrenna, who took the player to a Green Gods concert and managed to get it signed by three of the four members of the band. The player didn’t work anymore and the Green Gods had broken up years ago, members dispersing into oblivion and/or ill-advised solo careers. But he kept it to remember that time in his life, and to remind him that Vrenna, despite often being a pain in his ass as they grew up, was occasionally capable of being thoughtful and kind.
The final object was a threadbare stuffed pig named Giggy, bought for Marce on his first birthday by his mother, who had given Vrenna a stuffed bear named Howie at the same time. Howie had disappeared years before—there was reason to believe Vrenna may have launched him into the sky using a homemade rocket—but Giggy survived and accompanied Marce to every new home. Fiction would dictate that Giggy was the sole remaining gift Marce had from his now-departed mother, but in real life Marce had many gifts and owned many things that were either from her or reminded him of her. Giggy was simply his good-luck charm.
Marce stuffed all four objects in a small rucksack, and then considered the rucksack. Not a lot to leave a world with, he thought. Marce had been doing his best not to think too much about the fact that he was leaving the planet to go to a place where he knew no one and where he would likely spend all the rest of his life. The Flow stream to End would last longer than the one going out from it; it might be open for years yet. Theoretically it was possible at this point that he could make it back. It was just deeply unlikely. Marce’s way of dealing with the fact he’d never see his father or sister or any of the people he’d ever known in his lifetime was to think about the practical issues of leaving the planet.
Which he had attended to; the day before he’d met with Gazson Magnut, the chief purser of a ship called Yes, Sir, That’s My Baby, and arranged passage. It hadn’t been cheap—it had in fact cost more money than Marce figured he’d ever spent on everything else he’d ever bought in his life up to that point—and Magnut had tried to upsell him on several other things, including a faked set of travel documents. Marce noted Magnut seemed mildly disappointed when he pointed out his travel documents were in order. With that taken care of, all that remained was to set up resignation and farewell letters, all of which would be sent after the Yes, Sir was in the Flow.
And this, the collecting of important objects. Everything else in the apartment could be collected by Claremont staff later.
Marce swung the rucksack over his shoulder, took a last look at the apartment, and decided that he would not miss it at all. It was, like nearly every academic institutional residence, entirely forgettable in every way. Then he headed down the stairs and out of the dormitory, down a street that was almost entirely empty except for a couple of people far down the road, and the van, which drove up to where Marce was, and opened up to reveal a couple of very large men.
The van then took off again, Marce in it, because the very large men had jumped out and dragged him into it before he really knew what was going on. The rucksack with all the sentimental objects stayed behind on the sidewalk, because sometimes that happens when you get kidnapped.
* * *
Ghreni Nohamapetan smiled at Marce Claremont across a small table. “Lord Marce. So good to see you again. I’m glad we could have this meeting on short notice.”
“Lord Ghreni,” Marce said. “Since you had me kidnapped to be here, I don’t think it was something I could really refuse.”
The two of them were sitting in a windowless room that looked like it had been made out of a storage container—which meant it probably was a storage container, repurposed. Marce had no idea of its location. He’d been in the room all of ten minutes, placed there by the thugs who had grabbed him, before Ghreni arrived.
“I don’t like the word ‘kidnapped,’” Ghreni said.
“With all due respect, Lord Ghreni, at the moment I don’t really give a damn what you like.”
“Fair enough.” Ghreni leaned back in his chair and considered Marce. “Rumor is that you’re planning to leave End behind.”
“If I were, I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”
“Well, see. There’s a war on, and the duke has noticed that several of his nobles—or their children, adult or otherwise—are now suddenly trying to book passage off the planet.”
“That will happen when there’s a war.”
“I suppose it might,” Ghreni agreed. “The duke doesn’t see it as a vote of confidence in his leadership skills, however, so he’s been inviting those who are interested in leaving to stay.”
“I don’t think you’ve kidnapped me to extend me this invitation, Lord Ghreni,” Marce said.
“No, I suppose that would be going the long way around to do it. You’re correct. I’ve invited you here for other reasons entirely. You’ll recall the other day when I asked your father to assist the duke with the release of imperial funds.”
“I recall him telling you ‘maybe.’”
“He did—which I took to mean ‘no, but politely.’ And to be clear, if that really was his answer, his reasons were both ethically and legally sound. It was a good choice for him to make, for those reasons.”
“I’ll tell him you said that.”
“I don’t doubt that you would,” Ghreni said. “Just not yet. The problem with your father’s answer, legally and ethically admirable as it might be, is that right now the duke really needs that money, because he really needs those weapons. And even ‘maybe’ doesn’t work with the time frame we’re under. So where persuasion didn’t work, compulsion might.”
“You’re holding me for ransom.”
“Yes. And I do apologize for that. Your father isn’t susceptible to other … blandishments that I or the duke might offer. He doesn’t seem interested in money or power or anything else tangible. And he has no patriotism for End or loyalty to the duke. But there’s no doubt that he loves both you and your sister. From there it was just the matter of choosing which of the two of you to pick. We considered your sister…”
Marce laughed at this, and Ghreni as gracefully as possible acknowledged the laugh.
“… but she presented problems in terms of acquisition.”
“You mean that she would have gutted the thugs you sent after her, and then would have come after you next, after they gave you up.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. You were, and I mean this with no disrespect whatsoever, the softer target.”
Marce nodded at this. It was true enough. He was a scientist, and Vrenna was a soldier, or had been before she had taken over Claremont’s constabulary. Of the two of them, he was much more likely to be taken by surprise, and rather less likely to snap anyone’s neck.
“There is also the matter that you are intended to leave the planet, and she’s not.”
“So?”
“You’ve never left End before. You’ve never even gone to the imperial station, even when your sister was in the marines. Your leaving now is interesting.”
“You mentioned there was a war going on.”
“Yes, but I don’t think that’s why you’re leaving. If you were leaving because of the war, it wouldn’t just be you. Your sister and father would be leaving as well, or at least trying to. But it’s just you.” Ghreni reached into his pocket and pulled out a data crypt, laid it on the table. “And by this, at least, you’re not leaving with the family inheritance.”
Marce stared at the data crypt. It had been taken from him when he’d been kidnapped, along with the other personal items that were on his body rather than in the now-missing rucksack.
Ghreni pushed it over to him. “Take it.”
Marce took it, put it in his pocket. “Is it empty?”
“No. I don’t need your pictures and music, and I’m afraid the duke needs more than a hundred thousand marks from your family. Until and unless your father helps us, it’s not as if you’re going anywhere anyway. And because I think he wants you to go, now, I think we’ll get what we want from him.”
“And if you don’t?”
Ghreni shrugged. “For starters, you’re not leaving the planet.”
“‘For starters.’”
“The duke really needs access to that money.”
“Enough to kill me?”
“He wouldn’t be killing you himself. But now that you mention it, at the moment, hundreds and possibly thousands of people are dying daily in this stupid rebellion. If placing one life in the balance—yours—means thousands more will live, isn’t that a risk worth taking?”
“You really just attempted to morally justify kidnapping me.”
Ghreni shrugged again. “It’s certainly an argument I can see the duke making to ease his conscience. Whether it holds water is not something I think he’ll trouble himself with. The duke is many things, but a great thinker is not one of them.”
“This isn’t going to work.”
“We’ll see. Either way, war excuses many lapses, especially if the duke gets his weapons and quashes the rebellion. In the meantime, Lord Marce, you get to find out how much you are worth to your father. If not for yourself, then for whatever reason he has for sending you off the planet. You don’t want to tell me what that is, do you?”
“It’s not any of your business.”
“I know you believe that. But you might be surprised at the scope of my business.”
“Since the scope of your business clearly involves kidnapping, I don’t think anything you’d do at this point would surprise me much.”
“Again, fair point. I’m willing to listen if you want to tell me why you’re really planning to leave End.”
Marce stayed silent, staring at Ghreni.
“That’s fine,” Ghreni said, after a minute. “If your father doesn’t move quickly enough, we’ll be torturing you a bit to motivate him. Video and all of that. While we’re doing that I’ll have them ask you about this again.”
“Torture doesn’t get truthful answers.”
“That’s what they say. Again, we’ll see.” Ghreni stood up and pointed to the far end of the container. “In the meantime, there’s a toilet in that far corner, and over here there’s a cooler with water and a few snacks.” He pointed toward the near end. “The door is here. If you get within five feet of it, an electric current goes through it. If you touch it, you probably won’t die, but you’ll wish you had. If you still somehow manage to open it anyway, my people on the other side will make you wish you hadn’t. You understand?”
Marce nodded.
“Good.” Ghreni considered Marce. “I do apologize about this. This wasn’t how I would have done it. And I realize this will make things awkward between us from here on out.”
“For starters,” Marce said, echoing Ghreni’s comments from earlier. Ghreni smiled and exited.
Marce went to the cooler, took out a bottle of water, and drank from it, looking at his surroundings again. Table lamp, chairs, toilet, cooler. No cot. A cold metal floor and cold metal walls. He walked to the front of the room, not too close to the wide doors, and heard voices on the other side, low, masculine. He couldn’t make out what they were saying.
This is lovely, he thought. The only good news in any of this was that Ghreni gave back his data crypt, which was rather more valuable than he knew. Otherwise, this was a mess. By now his father would probably have been contacted by Ghreni Nohamapetan. Marce didn’t know how his father would react. On one hand this was exactly the sort of thing he’d push back against. On the other hand, Ghreni was right that the only things Dad really cared about in this life were his children.
There was also the matter that somewhere between a week and a month from now, Interdependency marks were going to be worth less, pound for pound, than dirt. That being the case, Dad might hand the money over simply because it wouldn’t matter in the long run, or even the slightly-longer-than-short run.
But then this uprising, which was beginning to look like it might sort itself out, and not in the duke’s favor, might get a new burst of life from those additional weapons. More death, more destruction, more people displaced from their homes—at a time when everyone on End’s life was going to be turned upside down anyway, because of the Flow stream out from the planet closing up.
Marce took another swallow from his water. He was afraid, and deeply concerned for his individual well-being—Ghreni Nohamapetan struck him as just the sort of smug sociopath that would in fact have him tortured just for fun—but he also felt strangely detached. Whether that was shock at his current state of being, or just awareness that human civilization was close to the end, so relatively speaking this was nothing, or both, was something he couldn’t parse. He was scared, but he was also tired. At the moment, at least, being tired was something he could actually do something about.
So Marce Claremont went back to his chair, sat in it, put his feet up on the table, crossed his arms, closed his eyes, and tried to take a nap.
Some indefinite time later he felt himself being shaken awake. “Look who’s here to see you,” said a familiar voice.
Marce opened his eyes, blinking, and tried to focus on the thing directly in front of him. It was Giggy, his stuffed pig. The person behind Giggy, waving him in Marce’s face, was his sister Vrenna.
“You found me,” Marce said, groggy.
“That’s what I do,” Vrenna replied, handing Giggy over to her brother.
“Why weren’t you electrified?”
“What?” Vrenna looked puzzled.
“Never mind. How did you find me?”
“I had help. I’ll explain later. Are you okay to walk?”
“I’m fine.”
“Then let’s get moving before the two chunks I stunned wake up.”
Vrenna led Marce out of the room, which was, as suspected, a repurposed cargo container, located inside a tumbledown warehouse. Marce’s container was not the only one; two more, presumably currently unoccupied, were lined up next to his. One of them had a long streak of blood curving away from it, as if a body had been dragged away. Outside Marce’s container two men lay on the floor of the warehouse, the same two who had grabbed him and pulled him into the van. They were breathing, which was more than Marce really wanted for them at the moment.
“What is this place?”
“It looks like an extracurricular detention center,” Vrenna said.
“For the duke?”
“Maybe. Come on.” Vrenna led her brother out of the warehouse, and pushed him toward a nondescript groundcar. Marce got in and buckled up while Vrenna put the thing into manual drive.
“Where are the others?” Marce asked, looking around.
“What others?” Vrenna asked.
“You came to get me alone?”
“I didn’t have a lot of time to make a project out of it.” Vrenna checked her surroundings and began driving off.
“What if I had been injured? What if I hadn’t been able to walk? What if there had been more than two of them?”
“I would have figured something out.”
“I have notes on this rescue.”
“I can put you back if you like.”
Marce giggled and clutched his stuffed pig tighter. “Don’t mind me, sis,” he said. “I’m just having a little post-kidnapping freakout.”
Vrenna reached over and took her brother’s hand. “I know,” she said. “Go ahead and freak out a little. I don’t mind.”
After a couple of minutes of relatively restrained freakout, Marce held up Giggy and looked at him. “You brought Giggy with you.”
“I did. I thought it might distract you from thinking too much while I got you out of there.”
“It worked, but I’m wondering how you got him in the first place.”
“He was given to me. Along with the rest of the stuff you had in a rucksack when you were kidnapped.”
“Okay, but how did you get any of that?”
“It was given to me by the people who were watching you.”
“People were watching me?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”